A Kiss Is Not A Contract (But It's Very Nice)
by lostmerlinfic
Summary: Lost tootsmcgonagall fic
1. Chapter 1

Upon entering Camelot Record Office as a new employee, the first thing one is told is possibly the most important piece of information given. This vital piece of information is as follows: Everything Stops for Tea Break. Absolutely everything. The Record Office staff fight amongst themselves over who has to do Search Room cover, and then the remaining victorious converge upon the kettle and biscuit tin, and sit down in the office for a good natter. It was the same for Gwen Cameliard, fresh from Nottingham Trent, for Lance Dulac, the gorgeous Chilean Cataloguing Archivist, even for Sophia Tirmore, the Secretary (of sorts). It was no different six months ago for Merlin Emrys, the newest addition to the Camelot team, a qualified Archivist employed as General Dogsbody to the pompous blond prat of a Deputy County Archivist.

Arthur Pendragon is what you would call spoiled. Having never had to lift a finger for himself, he is accustomed to ordering people around. It began in the nursery, and continued through Eton and Cambridge and his postgrad at Aberystwyth, and inevitably led to his being appointed as the youngest Archivist at County level in the country. This is what is called nepotism, though Arthur likes to think he earned it, and the rest of the staff do little to dispel this notion, preferring a quiet life.

Morgana Lefey, the stunning Search Room Supervisor, is currently leading the Tea Break Bitching, as they have termed it. Being in such close proximity to the public was bound to have adverse affects, but Morgana is downright scary if you cross her. She had a thing with Arthur for about five minutes when they both started their jobs, but that was over long before it started, and now he is her victim of choice. To be honest, he s everyone s victim of choice, though Gwen is diplomatically fair, and Lance his good friend and therefore disinclined to be too harsh. For everyone else he is the boss, and deserves everything they throw at him.

The telephone rings. Everyone ignores it, until Morgana sighs and hurries through to the Search Room to answer it, glaring at them all as she leaves.

Where s Merlin? Will asks, devouring two hobnobs at once to general disgust.

No idea, Gwen starts to say, but then there is a crash from the Fumigation Chamber, and everyone in the office holds their breath, waiting for the inevitable shouting match to begin. Right on cue, it does, Arthur s Devonshire accent, something Eton and Cambridge never fully managed to get rid of, mixing with Merlin s conglomeration of Anglo-Irish.

Merlin, you idiot, have you any idea how much these are worth?

They re architects plans, you tosser, most will end up in the bin. And I wouldn t have dropped them if you hadn t come looming at me like a Great Big Loomy Thing.

You can t talk to me like that.

I ll talk to you any way I please.

These arguments are regular, and so formulaic that most of the time they might as well be scripted. They are vaguely hilarious to listen to, so long as they re conducted out of Uther s earshot. What is not so hilarious is dealing with Merlin after such an argument; his temper is usually so foul that they have to send him off to Strong Room 1 (across the car park at the other side of the building) until he cools off. Harsh, but effective, and it stops him being fired thrice daily by Arthur s County Archivist father.

Sure enough, the door slams, signalling Arthur s exit to his own office across the corridor, and Merlin comes crashing into the office.

Don t say it, Lance warns, before Merlin even opens his mouth. It s not worth it, and anyway, we ve heard it all before.

But if he knew how good I really was I wouldn t even have to sort bloody architects plans. I don t think you can actually get duller than that.

Train station photos, pipes up Will, at the same time as Sophia says, filing.

If he knew how good you were you d be fired, Lance says, in his I m-going-to-win-this-argument-but-in-as-chivalrous-a-way-as-possible voice. You know there isn t an Archivist position available here, we haven t enough space as it is.

Let them fire me, Merlin rants. I don t care.

You d hate it if I fired you, Arthur remarks, walking into the room and handing a wad of papers to Mordred, the Education Archivist, who sighs resignedly and puts his coffee cup away. No other boss would let you talk back to him the way I do.

Uther s the boss, Merlin reminds him. Prat. But he s smiling, and if it s mirrored on Arthur s face just before he leaves, well, nobody will remark on it. Merlin grabs a cup of tea and sits down next to Gwen, heaving a huge sigh.

Gwen, I hate my job.

No, you don t, Gwen says, calm and gentle as always. She and Lance are engaged, and, as the other staff have remarked on countless occasions, it is impossible to find a kinder couple anywhere. You re just frustrated because Arthur s being impossible.

Again, Merlin moans, hidden behind his arms, his head resting on the table. Why can t he act like a normal human being? Why does he have to be a super twat all the time?

Don t swear, Gwen admonishes. And give him a break. He s under so much pressure at the minute, what with the unitary council thingy, and his father being in charge, and having to work nine hour days.

You are far too nice to bitch to, Gwen.

Do you really hate him as much as you pretend to, Merlin? she asks. At their desks, both Mordred and Lance sit up a little straighter, and Sophia loiters by the photocopier, pretending to fiddle with some papers.

Who? Merlin feigns ignorance.

You know who I mean, Gwen says. You say you hate him, and heaven knows the pair of you argue like an old married couple, but do you really? Arthur may be many things, but he isn t really a hateable guy.

He s charming and irritating, Merlin harrumphs. And that is all you are getting out of me, Gwyneth Cameliard. That goes for the rest of you as well. I don t know what misguided assumptions you are making about Arthur and myself, but they re probably not true. You lot have a collectively phenomenal imagination.

You must admit, Mordred begins, a wicked gleam in his eye, that he pays you more attention than any of us.

And you bitch at him constantly but always do what he says, Will adds, and Merlin groans.

Not you, too, Will.

Jump, says Sophia, in a scarily convincing impression of Arthur, before putting on a high-pitched voice and saying, how high, your Highness?

Piss off, the lot of you.

The door crashes open and Morgana storms through, causing everyone to sit bolt upright and Merlin to send his tea flying.

Shit, he says, and Gwen glares at him.

We ve got a Who Do You Think You Are? coming in in a fortnight, Morgana announces, and a great sigh heaves through the room.

What are we, the National Archives? Mordred says. It would be nice if they actually used Kew every once in a while.

Has someone told Uther? Gwen asks, hesitantly. Morgana glares at her.

No. Do you want to?

No thanks. I ll pass. All eyes swivel to Merlin, who sighs.

Please, God, no, he pleads. Don t make me. I ll be butchered.

Such a drama queen, Will says, and Merlin bats him over the head with Whittaker s Almanac. Bastard, Will tells him.

Come and help me with these plans, Merlin pleads. I can t deal with them on my own, and we can play a radio in the Plans Room. Will nods. Merlin picks up the radio and they walk out of the office to head down to the Plans Room. They meet Arthur, face mostly obscured by a large cardboard box, coming out of Strong Room 4.

So, Morgs tells me we ve got a Who Do You Think You Are? coming in, he says, breezily. Hope she s pretty.

You know, sometimes I forget what a total knob he is, Merlin whispers to Will. And then he opens his mouth, and I remember.

I heard that.

You were meant to.

Oh, cut it out with the flirting, you two, Will says. It gets tedious.

Merlin slaps Will, and Arthur gives him the hardest glare possible when one s face is hidden by a box.

Funny. William, I need you to help me with these documents, Arthur says. Merlin can manage with the plans without you there to hold his hand.

You re such an arse, Merlin says, as Will follows Arthur, shooting an apologetic smile behind him.

Watch your language. With that, Arthur and his box disappear, and Merlin is left with the architects plans and a very sour expression on his face.

Understandably, when the BBC turn up two weeks later with a load of cameras and Tony Robinson, they want Arthur and Morgana for the programme. This was always going to happen, Merlin tells himself to try and curb his jealousy; they are, after all, the two most beautiful people in the Record Office, with Lance a close third. But really, Merlin gets so angry sometimes. Despite all his protestations to the contrary, Arthur knows that Merlin is the best Archivist they have, and Merlin knows he knows. The Pendragons must have really wanted him on the team or they d have given his grade 1 Archives Assistant post to somebody who didn t have a First in Mediaeval History from St. Andrews and an MA in Archives and Records Management from Liverpool.

He takes out his frustration, in as careful a way as possible so as not to damage them, on the documents he is currently scanning, and hammers the keys on the keyboard so they make a satisfyingly loud clicking noise.

If you break that I m docking your wages, Arthur tells him, sticking his head around the door. He gives him the once-over. Can t you do something about your hair? You can t go on TV looking like you ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, you ll give us all a bad name.

Oh sod off, I m not in the wait, what? Merlin is thoroughly perturbed.

Shall I use small words? Arthur grins, clearly loving it. You. TV. Now. He points at the Search Room. Arse. In. Get.

Merlin tells him to do something that, if Uther had heard it, would have got him fired on the spot, but there is a broad grin threatening to envelop his features.

And stop smiling, Arthur tells him grumpily. It makes you look even more deranged than usual.

Yes, Sir.

That s just frightening.

You know, sometimes you aren t a complete arsehole, Merlin says as he passes Arthur and goes into the Search Room. Arthur is shocked into paralysis, and doesn t move until Morgana eventually has to come and fetch him so they can actually start filming.

That was AMAZING, Merlin gushes for the umpteenth time. They are in the pub after filming has finished, and Merlin is on his fifth pint already. I mean, I am going to be on Who Do You Think You Are?, me! Arthur and Morgana were a given, but me? With the ears and King of the Bowl Cuts? The others smile into their drinks, and later discuss in hushed tones how Arthur may just have done the nicest thing he s ever done to any employee by letting Merlin film too. And I got to meet Here, Morgana promptly slaps her hand over Merlin s mouth.

You are sworn to secrecy, Merlin, she warns, and Merlin meekly shuts up and goes back to his beer.

There is a blast of cold air as the pub door opens, and everyone turns to look and see who has walked in. It s fairly busy, being six o clock on a Friday night, but the figure is unmissable.

Bloody hell, say Morgana, Will and Mordred in unison.

What are you doing here? Merlin asks, his tone less belligerent than usual, fonder. He is a bit drunk and obviously trying to be nice in return for Arthur s good deed, and the others find it sweetly endearing. You never drink with the staff. He is fixing Arthur with a stare so searching that Arthur feels a little uncomfortable and a little flustered, yet he stares back, equally forcefully. The air crackles with expectation, and the staff send each other covert looks, grinning slyly to themselves.

Tonight, he does, comes a female voice from behind Arthur, and the spell is broken. Merlin drops his gaze as Sophia appears, holding a pint in one hand and a frilly pink cocktail in the other. She hands the pint to Arthur, her hand resting a little too long on his. Out of their vision, Lance mimes throwing up into his pint glass, but since everyone knows he is probably playing footsie with Gwen under the table, they all ignore him.

Merlin, who since he saw Sophia has been trying to drown himself in his pint, finishes it with a flourish and puts the glass down on the table with a clink.

Who s for another? he asks. Arthur gives him a peculiar look and he blinks back owlishly until Morgana takes pity on him, grabs his arm and drags him over to the bar.

Something strong, she tells the barmaid, tilting her head at Merlin, and a half of Strongbow for me, please.

Tequila Suicide? the barmaid suggests, nodding knowingly. Morgana looks at Merlin, who is trying to peek under his armpit at Arthur and Sophia, who happen to be sitting cosily in a corner next to a very put-out-looking Mordred. She shakes her head.

Slammers will be fine. I don t want to end up in A&E with him.

The barmaid puts Morgana s Strongbow down and hands a slice of lime, the salt, and a shot of Tequila to Merlin.

Drink it, Morgana orders, sprinkling salt on Merlin s thumb and first finger. Merlin does so, reaching for the lime blindly and pulling a spectacular face. Congratulations. Now, are you going to tell me why you have a face like a wounded puppy or am I going to have to beat it out of you?

I don t like Sophia much, Merlin confesses, ordering another Tequila.

I d gathered that, Morgana says. Nor do I, since we re being honest, I think she s incompetent and also a really big slut. But you were completely indifferent to her until five minutes ago, and let s face it, Merlin, you didn t like Arthur much until he let you be on that telly programme.

Uther doesn t know about that, Merlin says, out of the blue. So hush hush. It was only meant to be you and Arthur.

Really? Morgana s features take on a calculating expression. That is very interesting.

Do you know what I really fancy? Merlin asks. Karaoke. Let s go to the Blue Oyster, it does Friday night karaoke.

I don t think that s such a good idea actually, Morgana replies. Besides, you haven t answered my question.

Yes. No. To get to the other side. 42, Merlin giggles, taking one final shot and stumbling towards the table where everyone is sitting.

Merlin, Arthur drawls contemptuously, the same way he does every day at work. Do you always get this bladdered when you lot go down the pub, or is it just one special occasions? I think I ought to know what I m getting in to. Sophia squeezes his knee and positively beams at him, and Merlin knows Arthur s only teasing him, but the catty remark falls from his lips before he can stop it.

Oh, is this going to be a regular occurrence then? Be sure to let me know and I ll bring out the special vodka. He turns away before he can see Arthur s stunned, hurt expression and feel guilty about it. Really, Arthur is a bastard at work and deserves it, but a traitorous part of Merlin s brain won t let him forget how kind Arthur was to defy his father s - and the director s - wishes and get him a slot on Who Do You Think You Are? He turns back to say something polite, but Arthur s back is turned and he s very close to Sophia, so Merlin goes back to quietly resenting him.

Morgana saunters over and stands next to him, for once saying absolutely nothing, and leads him over to sit beside Will and Mordred, who for some reason are looking at him with pitying expressions on their faces. Merlin doesn t like to be pitied, so he necks his - or somebody else s, he isn t too sure of the particulars anymore - drink and heads for the door.

Where is he going? he hears Arthur ask, and feels a satisfying jolt in knowing that Arthur is not totally engrossed in the, admittedly quite sizable, charms of Sophia-the-Slut-Secretary.

The Blue Oyster, Morgana replies.

How did you know that?

A great deal of intuition and also by buying him a couple of tequila shots. Gets you all the information in the world.

You are an infuriating woman, Morgana Lefey, Arthur says, standing up. Well, I suppose we should go and make sure he doesn t end up face down in a gutter somewhere and make an example of us all.

Morgana watches him go, and the rest of the office trickling after him, her thoughts set in motion, and knowing that some of things she has heard and seen this evening are going to be extremely valuable in the next few days. Smiling to herself, she finishes her drink, bids goodnight to Gwen and Lance, who are still in their corner enjoying the alone time, and heads after the rest of the staff to stop Merlin making a huge fool of himself.

Unfortunately, Merlin s idea of karaoke involves him harassing the DJ until he puts the Black-Eyed Peas on, and then screaming MAZEL TOV at interspersing moments, until Morgana takes pity on the ears of the rest of the pub and drags him back to his seat and his pint. Sophia coerces Arthur into standing up with her, and proceeds to whine a simpering version of Bryan Adams song from the Kevin Costner film of Robin Hood, while Arthur looks like he would much rather be slitting his wrists with a paper clip than standing next to her. Merlin scowls into his drink, and Will, Mordred and Morgana roll their eyes at each other.

Is anyone else tired of this? Mordred asks, to general assent. Well, I m not taking him home. He indicates Merlin, who is now slumped on the table and snoring gently. Honestly, it s a wonder he ever drinks at all, the state he gets himself in. He s going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.

He s just upset, Morgana says. I ll take him, if you like.

Nah, you ve looked after him enough, Will tells her. This is a job for a fellow Archives Assistant and university drinking pal.

If you re sure.

Positive. It ll be just like old times: me hauling his drunken ass up the stairs to his apartment, him sobbing into my shoulder the name of whichever poor sod has rejected him this time. Will grins. Nothing to it, I m an old hand! He goes over to Merlin and smacks him smartly on the shoulder. Come on mate, up you get.

Nurflesocksnish, says Merlin, waving his hand ineffectually.

Yes dear, I know, Will replies, evidently able to speak the language that is drunken Merlin. But we need to get you home, because you are very, very drunk. Merlin begins to stand up, but Arthur chooses this precise moment to escape from the clutches of Sophia and appear at their side. Merlin staggers into him, and it is only by virtue of Arthur s quick reflexes and strong arms that he stays upright.

Steady there, he says. Merlin shoves Arthur s arms away and glares angrily at him.

Fuck off, he tells him, venomously. Will and Mordred s eyes widen, and Will hurries forward to whisk Merlin away before he does or says something that will end up getting him fired. Once they are well out of the door, Morgana turns to Arthur.

You must forgive Merlin, she says reasonably. He s incredibly drunk and doesn t know what he s saying.

I think he does, Arthur replies. I think he knows exactly what he s saying. Whatever I m meant to have done, I probably deserve it, but don t tell him I said that.

Morgana deduces that Arthur must be quite drunk himself to admit this.

He s alright, is Merlin, Arthur continues. Totally ridiculous haircut, of course, and the world s most unfortunate ears, but he s a brilliant archivist, despite the moaning, and he has very blue eyes.

Ok Arthur, I think you need to go home too, Morgana says, beginning to feel disconcerted. And don t let Sophia hear you saying those things.

Sophia?

Your girlfriend, Arthur, Morgana says, exasperatedly. Or as good as, anyway.

Oh yes, Arthur says meekly, and walks away. Morgana and Mordred exchange eye rolls, and Morgana heads home. The next few days are going to be extremely interesting, she thinks, as the cold wind bites at her arms. Very interesting indeed. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days are so busy that days blur into weeks, and suddenly, without anybody quite realising how, a whole month has disappeared. Merlin tactfully stays out of Arthur s way as much as possible; more often than not he walks into Arthur s office to find Sophia simpering at his desk, hanging on his every word, or fiddling with some papers, pretending to do some work. During such instances Arthur usually scowls at the interruption, so Merlin has taken to just avoiding the room as much as possible.

It gets marginally better. Arthur must have said something to Sophia, because suddenly she s around less, and Merlin begins to talk to his boss again. Both realise that they were in some sort of fight, which in itself is completely idiotic - they didn t think they were close enough to get in fights - but the entire staff were in agreement that they needed to put that night behind them. Soon enough, the strains of constant arguing drifts through to the office at any given moment, and the world is set to right once more.

The staff are highly amused by the entire episode, and it gives them more gossip than they ve ever had before. Someone s even started a sweepstake, though Arthur and Merlin are damned if they know what people are betting on, despite numerous efforts to get involved. They are always met with a resolute no and usually a knowing smile. It is highly irritating, and Merlin starts to suspect that the staff know something he doesn t. Will in particular becomes grumpier, though Merlin can t fathom out the reason, but he knows it must be something to do with him because Will s perfectly civil to everyone else. Except Arthur, of course, but Will s never been civil to Arthur.

Before anybody quite realises it, Arthur s birthday is upon them - his twenty-sixth - and Merlin finds himself sitting on his own in the corner of the office, quietly working on cataloguing some prison photographs. They ve all done the compulsory cake, balloons and embarrassing singing, and as a birthday treat Merlin hasn t given Arthur any grief all day. It makes him feel somehow lost, as though his purpose in life is to irritate the Deputy County Archivist, and when that s taken away he is nothing. But that s a silly, maudlin thought, and Merlin s not entirely sure what s the matter with him.

At about half two, Arthur sidles up to him, still wearing the ridiculous crown and sash that make him look as though he s at a hen party.

Do you know it s impossible to tell who s a prisoner and who s a prison guard, Merlin says, with ought looking up. They all look the same.

To the inexperienced eye, maybe. They have reached some sort of accord, where they only bicker every second conversation, and Merlin resolutely doesn t think about what Arthur and Sophia were doing last night. It s almost a friendship.

Oh, so you have experience of prisons, do you? Merlin grins, finally looking up. What did they get you for? Murder? Irritating someone to death? You would be stupid enough to get caught.

Shut up Merlin. Listen, what are you doing this evening? He looks vaguely embarrassed and Merlin s immediately on his guard.

It s not late night opening is it? he groans. You re going to make me switch with you cause it s your birthday, aren t you? Arthur, you know I m not allowed: not technically an Archivist here, remember?

It s not about the late night opening, Arthur says, patiently waiting for Merlin to rant himself out. I was wondering if you wanted to come for a birthday drink tonight. My birthday, not yours, obviously. You don t have to, he adds quickly, defensively, but Merlin hasn t even got around to thinking about answering, so bemused is he by the fact that Arthur is wittering and Merlin has never, ever heard him do that.

No. I mean, yeah, sure, he says. Shall I pass the message on? You know, tell Morgana: she ll get everyone together. And I m sure Sophia already knows, he adds begrudgingly.

Well, actually Arthur begins, but at that moment Morgana appears at their side as though magically summoned.

Tell me what?

Birthday drinks for Arthur tonight, says Merlin, oblivious and unthinking. Morgana looks gobsmacked, and then slowly begins to clap.

A precedent has been set, she says, astonished. I ll spread the good news. Seven o clock in the Blue Oyster?

I hate the Oyster, Arthur growls, speaking up at last.

Well, where were you thinking of going? Morgana asks him. Arthur sneaks a quick glance at Merlin before answering.

It doesn t matter, he mumbles. Let s just go to the King s Head. I ve not been there for ages.

Fair enough. Seven, in the King s. Wow, well done Merlin. With that, she flounces off, her long dark curls bouncing behind her, and Merlin can t help but watch her go. Morgana has that effect on everyone. Arthur pulls him from his reverie by snapping his fingers in front of Merlin s face.

Oi. Pay attention.

Sorry. Merlin at least has the good grace to look chagrined. Arthur s face contorts into a myriad of expressions, like he can t decide which one to pull, before finally ending up with a smile that s halfway to being a grimace.

See you later, ho, he says, and leaves, and Merlin is suddenly reminded that while Arthur may be the youngest Deputy County Archivist in the country, he is still only eighteen months older than Merlin. Since most of the time he feels like a child pretending to be a grown-up in a world he feels slightly, just slightly, out of sync with, Merlin feels, for the first time, some sort of empathy towards Arthur for everything he has to deal with.

Arthur is uproariously drunk. Well, most of them are drunk, but Arthur is more so. Merlin wouldn t mind, it is the man s birthday after all, but he s been saddled with the job of looking after him in all his drunken glory. Right now he is sitting ranting in Merlin s ear about H.R. The music is loud and Arthur has to be very close in order to be heard, Merlin understands this, but Arthur s breath is ghosting over his ear and occasionally his tongue touches the lobe, and it is both grossing him out and, strangely, turning him on at the same time. Besides, Sophia is glaring daggers at him from her spot across the room. Merlin hasn t missed the way she s draped across Mordred, but he thinks Arthur probably has. He is contemplating what would be the subtlest way of putting some distance between them when the DJ puts The Fratellis on, and Merlin finds his arm yanked out of its socket by Arthur, pulling him up to dance.

What the hell? he protests.

Shut up. Dance, monkey, is the reply, and Merlin has to stop for a moment and gape at Arthur in a manner fairly reminiscent of a codfish.

Have you never seen Arthur drunk before? Morgana asks, sidling past in a kind of shimmy that ensures everyone in the club is watching her. Merlin shakes his head mutely. It s an experience, enjoy it. She pokes him in the stomach, and Merlin sort of quacks - though he later denies it - and begins to shake various body parts. Morgana seems satisfied, and moves away. Merlin turns back to face Arthur, who is staring at him unashamedly.

What? Merlin says. Have I got something on my face?

You really can t dance, can you?

Thanks for that one, Captain Observation, Merlin retorts, not in the mood for any of Arthur s crap, and strangely worried because every time one of them (admittedly, usually him) gets drunk bad things happen.

Arthur laughs, and grabs Merlin s hands.

What are you doing? Merlin hisses, yanking them away again.

Teaching you to dance, replies Arthur, extremely blas .

Why do you need to hold my hands?

Because you clearly don t know what to do with them, Arthur snaps, then his expression softens. I m sorry, he says, quietly. That was unnecessary. Merlin nearly falls over, so rare and unexpected is an apology from the Deputy County Archivist. This time, when Arthur reaches for his hands he doesn t protest, but lets Arthur take them.

Arthur s hands are surprisingly soft and gentle to the touch. He manoeuvres them so that their fingers are interlaced together, and begins to move his arms so that Merlin s follow. Somehow, incredibly, he s dancing without the danger of knocking anyone out with his flailing. He beams up at Arthur, but the face staring back at him doesn t smile; it is strangely guarded and highly intense, like Arthur is trying to burn Merlin s face off with his eyes.

If you were a superhero, what would your power be? Merlin blurts out. Arthur snaps out of his trance and pulls his hands out of Merlin s.

What? he asks. I thought I was supposed to be the drunk one.

Luckily, Merlin is saved from answering by Sophia, who chooses that moment to effortlessly place herself between him and Arthur. Without a word, Arthur leads her to another part of the dance floor, and Merlin stomps towards the door.

I saw that, Morgana whispers in his ear as he passes, but he just shakes his head at her and leaves the pub. All he wants to do is sleep, and not think about what did and didn t just happen.

Monday dawns far too quickly for Merlin s liking. He drags himself bleary-eyed into work, prepared for the worst. However, his colleagues do nothing more than offer him sympathetic glances and the occasional pat on the back. Once again, Merlin is left wondering if there is something he missed.

Arthur spends a lot of time in the office, loitering around and pretending to supervise. Merlin can tell the rest of the staff are getting pissed off with the interference, but every time he tries to catch Arthur s eye, Arthur looks away. In the few instances that he does get to speak to his boss, Arthur s gaze fixes on a point somewhere beyond Merlin s left ear. Merlin doesn t understand it; if Arthur really didn t want to talk to him as much as he appeared to, what the hell was he doing staying in the office? He could easily hide away in his own room and not be disturbed.

But more than once, Merlin feels someone s eyes on his back as he works, but when he turns around Arthur is always deep in conversation with a rather startled-looking member of staff.

It is the same all week. Arthur continues to act weirdly, and every time Merlin sees him, Sophia is never far away, tossing her blonde locks in an alluring and highly irritating fashion. Merlin can t wait for Friday and the weekend.

Bank holiday this weekend, Lance comments at tea break on Friday afternoon. Any plans?

You re just gloating because you and Gwen are going on a romantic mini-break to Dublin, Morgana points out. The rest of us will be stuck at home doing the garden.

I don t have a garden, says Will, helpfully. I live in a dingy flat.

No doubt you ll be doing something else then, says Mordred cheekily, and Will glares at him.

I love Fridays, Merlin announces. Three whole days without Arthur to look forward to. No one can wipe the smile from his face all day, despite their best efforts, not even the sight of Arthur being very enthusiastically kissed goodbye by Sophia (at least, he says it doesn t bother him, but Morgana, Lance and Gwen will all attest to the fact that his smile definitely falters for a second, before Mordred tells them to get a room and they disappear into Arthur s office, Arthur briefly catching Merlin s eye before closing the door).

As it happens, Merlin does have plans for the weekend, and so on Saturday morning he jumps on a train at Winchester station, heading for Whitby, to visit a friend from university. The train takes roughly seven hours, and includes several short journeys, so by the time Merlin finally steps into the bright sunshine at quarter to four, he is utterly exhausted and not entirely sure his legs remember how to work.

He s not due to meet Owen for another hour and a half, so he wanders down across the harbour and walks along a narrow, crowded street, window shopping. There is a sign pointing right to the Whitby Archives, but Merlin isn t masochistic, so he nips into a second-hand bookshop to while away the hours.

He is browsing through the history section when he comes across a very old-looking, dusty volume at the back of the bottom shelf. Closer inspection uncovers it as a manuscript of Gawain and the Green Knight. Merlin can only guess at the volume s age, but it is definitely several hundred years old. The pages are crumbling at the corners, and Merlin wonders exactly what it s doing in a bookshop in Whitby, trying not to get too excited in case it's a fake.

We ve had that for years, the shop assistant tells him, upon enquiry. Couldn t give it away if we tried. No one wants a crumbly old volume like that.

Nobody? Merlin is astonished. But it s... He trails off, unable to keep his enthusiasm as an Archivist and book-lover from shining through, and also afraid of giving too much away. The shop assistant rolls his eyes as if to say one of those .

To be honest, I just put it at the bottom and forgot about it.

How much for it? Merlin asks, digging in his pocket and making a snap decision.

Seriously?

Absolutely.

A hundred pounds.

Fifty, Merlin haggles. He isn t that well off.

Seventy-five.

Sixty.

Done, says the assistant, clearly pleased to be getting rid of the tome. Merlin beams as he hands over the money. Have a nice day, sir.

Merlin thanks him and rushes out of the shop and up the street, heading for Owen s house.

He doesn t get another chance to look at the book until Sunday afternoon. Owen has been called into work for an emergency cover shift, and Merlin is sitting on the grass in the grounds of Whitby Abbey in the sunshine, flicking through the manuscript. It is truly incredibly, very ornate, and not for the first time Merlin wonders how it came to be in a crummy side-street bookshop instead of under the hammer at Sotheby s.

Arthur, you have to see this, Merlin cries, bursting into Arthur s office first thing Tuesday morning when they re back at work.

Do you ever knock, Merlin? is the dry reply.

Shut up and look, Merlin tells him. His tone of voice makes Arthur look up calculatedly. Merlin thrusts the book under Arthur s nose. Careful, he says, and Arthur glares witheringly at him.

It s a beautiful specimen, he concedes, sounding both impressed and incredibly pretentious at the same time, a skill taught only in the best public schools money can afford.

Don't you know what this is? Merlin asks, astonished.

Gawain and the Green Knight?

Arthur, are you actually this stupid or do you just put it on?

I beg your pardon."

"Gawain and the Green Knight... Arthur, there is only one copy of it. I may have found another manuscript. Don't you understand how important that is?"

"Oh, Arthur's eyes go comically wide as he begins to understand.

Exactly, Merlin continues. "Arthur, this could be enormous. If we get this looked at and it is original, we would be singing. We'd get so many people through the door; there'd be so much publicity. Isn't it a little bit... well... brilliant?"

I didn t ask for a lecture, Merlin, Arthur interrupts, and Merlin looks chagrined. Look, well done, all right, Arthur tells him. This is some find. Where was it?

In a bookshop in Whitby. I paid sixty pounds for it.

I ll see that you re remunerated, Arthur says.

No need, replies Merlin, and Arthur looks curiously at him. Call it a gift donation.

Arthur pauses for a minute, thinking about this statement.

Thank you, he says eventually. That s very kind of you. He reaches out and grasps Merlin s shoulder, briefly squeezing, before he realises what he is doing, coughs, and leaves the room abruptly, carrying the volume. Merlin stands stock still for a full minute, before shaking his head and going back to work.

I can t date, Merlin yells frustratedly, slamming a large Victorian photograph album onto his desk to admonishing looks from Lance and Mordred.

That s good to know, Arthur says flatly, entering the room. The female population of Winchester can breathe easy once more.

Not like that, you imbecile, Merlin retorts. And why are you even here? Go back to your own office. Photographs. I can t date photographs. And don t say that s because they re inanimate objects because it would not be funny in the slightest.

Why am I here? Arthur ponders aloud, stroking his chin pensively. Merlin glares at him. To tell you that that book is original, and there will be a huge publicity campaign, so be prepared to do a lot of interviews over the next few weeks. You are probably about to become very famous.

This statement is met with dead silence. Then-

You re joking, Mordred bursts out with, and everyone starts talking at once, coming over to congratulate Merlin and clap him on the back. Over everyone s heads, Merlin catches Arthur smiling at him, a broad smile that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle attractively. Merlin grins back, holding his gaze, before Gwen asks him a question and forces him to turn away. When he looks back ten seconds later, Arthur is gone.

Arthur comes into the office at ten-twenty-five on Monday morning the following week. Mordred and Gwen are trying to make their tea break last as long as possible, while Morgana and Will sweat it out in the Search Room, unable to switch until they go through. Lance and Merlin are in the Conservator s Room with Gaius, laughing at something on the radio, still buzzing from the success of Gawain and the Green Knight and all the publicity it s brought them. The professionals valued it as the most expensive document they hold, and it s brought treble the number of people through the door as normal, including TV and radio reporters. Merlin is a little bit of a local hero.

Lance, Merlin, get in here, Arthur shouts, and the pair of them pop their heads around the door.

You called, oh High and Mighty One, Merlin replies cheekily, a gleam in his eye. Arthur scowls at him. Arthur is the only person who hasn t changed their attitude towards Merlin over the past week, and Merlin finds it highly refreshing to be snapped at, rather than congratulated at every turn. In fact he welcomes Arthur s presence more and more on a daily basis.

Parish Survey this afternoon. Two o clock. Be there, he says, and Merlin and Lance look at each other in surprise.

Are you sure you don t mean Mordred? Merlin asks. Behind Arthur, Will, who has just come into the room to find out what s keeping Gwen and Mordred, looks extremely perplexed.

If I meant Mordred, I d have said Mordred, Arthur tells him, in the tone of voice one might use when explaining to a five-year-old precisely why it has to go to school in the morning. I said your name, therefore I meant you.

But I m not qualified.

Oh for Christ s sake, Merlin, Arthur snaps. You know as well as I do that you re more than qualified. What harm is there in my training you up a little? It ll improve your CV if, you know, you ever want a job that pays more than we do.

That shuts Merlin up. There is silence in the office. This is becoming more and more common every time Merlin and Arthur are in a room together; their discourse having gone from yelling at each other constantly, to a state of almost-civility, to this, which sounds frighteningly emotional.

You re just trying to get rid of me, Merlin says eventually, and the tension is broken. Arthur scoffs.

If only it were that easy, he says, heading for the door. Two o clock, don t forget.

You re moving up in the world, says Will, somewhat bitterly, and goes to get a cup of coffee.

What do you mean by that? Merlin asks, following him, because really, Will s been in a ghastly mood for weeks now, and Merlin isn t entirely sure what he s meant to have done.

I just mean you find that bloody book and suddenly you re Arthur s bitch, Will snaps.

I am anything but, Merlin protests.

No, really, you two have been dancing around each other for about a million years, and suddenly you re famous and he wants to spend more time with you, and you want to spend more time with him, and it s like you re forgetting about the rest of us - your brothers in arms.

Why would I want to spend more time with Arthur? Merlin asks, genuinely surprised at the depth of emotion behind Will s tirade.

Don t patronise me, Merlin, it doesn t suit you, Will says coldly, turning to leave. Oh, and if I were you I d tell your precious boyfriend to watch out for Mordred.

He s not my what? Merlin says, but Will is gone, and Merlin is even more confused than when he started.

Merlin is halfway through an old episode of Green Wing on 4OD when there is a knock at the door. Puzzled, he looks at the clock and goes to answer it. Arthur stands there, swaying slightly, his eyes unfocussed and his tie undone.

I am a crap boss, he says, without preamble, and invites himself in. Ooh, Green Wing. That s pretty funny. Dr Macartney s kind of attractive too.

I m fairly sure you didn t mean to say that out loud, Merlin tells him. What are you doing here?

Come to pologise, Arthur mutters.

Just how much have you had to drink?

Not much, he replies, which Merlin translates as far more than I should have .

I m going to drive you home, Arthur, Merlin takes control of the situation. You ve had a bit too much to drink.

Not yet. Have to tell you. I am a crap boss.

You told me that already.

Shut up.

Merlin sticks his hands up apologetically.

I am a crap boss but Uther is crapper and why you are all not fucked up I shall never know.

You know, I m not entirely sure that crapper is a real word, Merlin says, for lack of a proper reply. And you aren t crap, you re just

Strict? Unyielding? Irritating?

A little difficult sometimes. They stare at each other, until Arthur ruins the mood with his inability to hold his head up without the aid of Merlin s sofa.

Come on Arthur, Merlin says, attempting to help his boss stand up. Let s get you home. You re going to have a bitch of a hangover as it is and

Arthur curls up on the sofa. m staying here, he says, and Merlin has a quiet panic attack.

You can t, he says.

I want to.

In the morning you won t. And really, how does that even make sense?

Will so.

Arthur, please, you can t stay. But Arthur has already passed out, and Merlin is left talking to an unconscious figure. Sighing, he turns the computer off and heads to his room.

Don t expect any sympathy from me in the morning, you great prat.

The following morning sees a bleary-eyed Merlin, clad in his oldest dressing gown, slurping at a cup of coffee and trying desperately to wake up a bit more. Arthur stumbles awake, looking groggily around and holding tightly to his head. Merlin grabs a second cup of coffee and takes it over to him, sitting down beside him.

Drink this, he says quietly, though Arthur still winces.

Thanks, he mumbles after a moment s awkward pause, and Merlin deduces from the silence that not only does Arthur have the hangover from hell, he s also quite embarrassed, and really, it s understandable. Without really realising what he s doing, and blaming it on the morning and the fact that his brain hasn t quite kicked in yet, Merlin reaches out a hand and tentatively places it on Arthur s arm, midway between his elbow and his wrist. Arthur stares at it for a while, before bringing his own hand to cover it. They sit in companionable silence for a while, and Merlin tries very hard not to think.

Sophia s left me, Arthur says, finally, and Merlin was not expecting that.

Bitch, he says venomously, because he means it, as well as it being the appropriate response. Why?

Apparently she was helpless against the irresistible charms of Mr. Lothian.

Mordred?! Merlin definitely didn t expect that. I erm

My God, Arthur manages a chuckle, though he looks like he s about to burst into tears. Merlin speechless, whatever next? Merlin smiles weakly and tightens his grip on Arthur s arm.

If you ask me how I m feeling I will throw up on your shoes, this conversation is girly enough as it is, says Arthur. Actually, I think I might throw up on your shoes anyway, better get me a bucket.

I m not wearing any shoes, smiles Merlin, but he goes over to the sink and brings Arthur the washing-up bowl. Arthur groans and sticks his head in it for a while, but luckily any threats of vomiting remain just threats.

Do you have a girlfriend? Arthur asks, taking an interest in Merlin s life for the first time. Merlin is a little taken aback, but realises that at the minute they are not exactly sticking to their conventional relationship.

No, he replies. There was a girl a few weeks ago, we went on a couple of dates, but it didn t work out.

What was she called?

Nimue. Merlin doesn t really want to talk about it; Nimue is Gaius s cousin s daughter or something, and it was a little bit of a blind date, but Merlin went with it because, well, Nimue was hot and Merlin hadn t had any in quite some time. When Arthur calls him a man-whore, Merlin realises he s said all that out loud.

I m hardly a man-whore if I haven t had any, he corrects, blushing furiously. Arthur smiles at him, holding his gaze, and slowly inclines his head towards Merlin s. Merlin knows he can move away any time, that Arthur s going slowly to give Merlin the choice, and what the hell? Arthur s about to kiss him.

The telephone rings. Merlin leaps away as though electrocuted and hurries to answer it, determinedly not looking at Arthur. Arthur, for his part, has a somewhat dazed look on his face, as though he too can t quite comprehend what almost happened. Clutching his head, he stands up, puts the mug - still half-full of coffee - on the table, and by the time Merlin returns from fielding off the daily onslaught of questions from his mother, Arthur has gone. 


	3. Chapter 3

Mordred and Sophia s disappearance costs the Record Office more than they had originally anticipated over the next couple of weeks. Not only is Arthur in a foul mood most of the time, but they are short an archivist and a secretary, and have to share the workload between them. The office is busy all the time, and tensions are running high. Merlin draws into himself, working quietly and efficiently, while Arthur stomps around like a bull in a china shop. Gwen, Lance and Morgana can t put their finger on what has changed between the black-haired man and his boss, but they re sure it has something to do with the day that Sophia and Mordred s disappearance was announced. Nobody likes to see Merlin upset, and even Will has stopped being a bastard in favour of looking after his best friend.

The day the application forms for Mordred s post are put on the intranet is the day that Lance and Gwen s wedding invitations go out, and is also the day that the staff sit Merlin down to confront him.

What is the matter, Merlin? Gwen asks kindly. You ve been miserable for weeks now.

It s nothing, Merlin replies, and no one believes him.

It doesn t look like nothing, points out Morgana, toning down the accusatory in favour of wheedling it out of Merlin another way.

Just leave it, Morgana, Merlin snaps. I don t really want to talk about it.

Arthur enters the room and his eyes automatically seek out Merlin, a fact missed by nobody.

Merlin, could I er have a word in my office, please? he asks, aware that everyone is looking at him. Now. Without another word, he turns and walks away, letting the door bang shut behind him.

You d better go, Lance says, and Merlin resignedly stands up and exits, silently, with his head bowed. Morgana, Gwen, Lance and Will exchange glances, and Will sighs heavily, rolling his eyes. This makes them laugh, and they talk about Gwen and Lance s wedding for the remainder of the tea break.

You wanted to see me, Merlin deadpans, walking into Arthur s office.

Yes, Arthur s tone is almost childlike in it s hesitancy. It s about the job. Are you going to go for it?

I had thought about it, Merlin replies, surprised.

I think you should, Arthur tells him.

Well, it s just that there s another job come up at Northumberland Record Office. it s a good salary and Northumberland s a nice place, it s

Three-hundred-and-thirty-one miles away, Arthur interrupts, and Merlin s eyes widen.

Did you actually Google Maps that? he asks incredulously.

Possibly, Arthur looks shifty.

Arthur.

Look, I think you should consider Mordred s post very seriously. There s going to be a restructure shortly and we re hoping for a pay rise, it s a good area, you re settled here. Remember, your mother will flip if you move all the way to Ashington. You re sort of the hero of the hour at the minute thanks to Gawain, and Arthur pauses here and looks down, embarrassed all of a sudden.

Yes? Merlin practically whispers.

I want you to stay, he says quietly.

What? Arthur, you hate me.

I don t hate you at all, Arthur tells him. I like having you around. Nobody s ever talked back to me like you have: it s refreshing, you have no idea. I I would miss you if you went to Northumberland.

Well Jesus, Arthur, I haven t got the job yet.

Please say you ll consider applying for our post before you make any rash decisions to hotfoot it up to the other end of the country.

I will consider applying for your post before I make any rash decisions to hotfoot it up to the other end of the country, Merlin sighs, but the grin making it s way into his face spoils it. Arthur laughs, a deep rich sound heard all too seldom over the past few weeks, and throws a pen at Merlin.

Get out of here, he says, still smiling. Go and do some work.

He said what? Gwen squeals. Merlin blushes and ducks his head.

Boy, you ve got it bad, remarks Will, his nose wrinkled in distaste.

Here s to the end of a beautiful friendship, jokes Lance.

I ll miss those arguments, adds Morgana. They made the day just that bit more entertaining.

Piss off, the lot of you, Merlin tells them, beetroot red and grinning like a maniac.

Merlin, feeling very foolish in a suit, walks into work on the day of his interview and finds himself yanked into a room full of massive cardboard boxes before he s even stepped through the door.

Arthur? What the fuck? he can t help swearing, his pre-interview nerves getting the better of him. This is his chance. He can t afford to blow it. Unfortunately, Arthur is making that very difficult. What are you even doing here? Aren t you supposed to be getting ready for the interview?

I came to see how you were, is the answer, and Merlin can t help but notice that he looks petrified.

I m fine, Merlin lies. And people are going to think I m blowing you to get the job. He means it as a joke, but there is a supremely awkward silence. Here, he says, putting a hand on Arthur s arm. Are you alright? I m supposed to be the nervous one, remember.

Arthur manages a very weak smile. I m not interviewing you, he says.

What? Merlin is flabbergasted. He had been hoping for at least one friendly face, even if Arthur is still a total knob most of the time. You mean I ll have to face Uther alone. Jesus, Arthur, what did you do?

Dad says I m too emotionally invested in the interviewees and has decided to go for someone more objective.

What the hell does that even mean? Merlin is starting to panic now. Uther scares the living daylights out of him as it is, and Merlin s convinced that Uther also hates him.

Calm down, Arthur tells him, running a soothing hand up and down his arm. You ll be fine. You re a brilliant archivist, any fool can see that. You ll walk it.

Merlin is speechless, unsure from where all this praise is coming. Arthur brings his left hand up to cup Merlin s face, briefly, stroking his cheek with his thumb, before turning abruptly and walking out of the room. Merlin s heart his hammering against his ribcage, and he knows for certain that it isn t entirely to do with nerves.

The interview passes in a blur of questions and Uther s This Is My Scary Face expression. When he comes out, exhausted and drained, Gwen gives him a big hug and Lance brings over a cup of tea, cementing themselves as Merlin s official favourite people ever. Arthur comes into the office at lunchtime to ask how it went, and squeezes Merlin s shoulder when he can t fully say.

I m sure it will be fine, when do you find out?

I think that all depends on whether or not I ve got the job, don t you? is the reply, and Arthur squeezes Merlin s shoulder one more time before exiting. Merlin ignores the knowing expressions on his friends faces and goes to help in the Searchroom to take his mind off things.

The next two days are the longest in Merlin s life. It s like waiting for Judgement Day, and harder even than that to deal with, Arthur keeps on touching him. Hands on arms, an arm around the shoulders, fingers brushing when handing over documents. It s getting almost unbearable. Merlin thought the incident the morning after Arthur turned up at his house drunk was down to Arthur-on-the-rebound, and Arthur-still-a-little-bit-drunk, but apparently not, if this is anything to go by.

The rest of the staff have also become unbearable, safe in the knowledge that they are well and truly right, and Merlin can t stand it. Will has practically stopped talking to him; apparently he s breaking some form of solidarity pact by fraternising with the boss, despite Merlin s near constant protestations that nothing has actually happened between them.

But you d like it to, Will snaps, and that s almost as bad.

It s almost a relief on Friday, when Merlin s mobile rings and he goes out into the kitchen to answer it. The staff wait anxiously in the office for him to come back, and when he does, his expression is inscrutable.

Well? asks Morgana impatiently.

Why did Uther ring me? Merlin answers. I just work across the corridor from him.

Merlin, Morgana growls. Merlin sighs.

I got it, he practically yells, jumping up and down like a lunatic, while Gwen, Lance and Will, forgetting their argument, all leap on him in a mass hug, and Gaius pats him on the back, congratulatory.

Well done, Merlin, Gwen squeals, planting a kiss on his cheek, and the four of them dance around the office in a circle, chanting He did it, he did it . Morgana stands back, smiling, but too dignified to join in. The office door opens and Arthur walks through. Merlin, Will, Lance and Gwen stop dancing immediately, and Will, Lance and Gwen stand back. Merlin stares at Arthur. There is dead silence.

I just heard, Arthur says, finally.

Yeah.

Congratulations.

Thanks.

There is another awkward silence. The rest of the staff shuffle away, muttering about work needing done. There is a beat, and then Merlin and Arthur move forward at the same time, wrapping their arms about each other and holding on tightly.

I knew you could do it, Arthur is whispering, his hands clutched in Merlin s hair, and Merlin is almost sobbing with relief, clawing at Arthur s shoulder blades. They stay like that, wrapped up in each other, until a soft cough brings them back to reality. Morgana is standing in the doorway, looking as embarrassed as Merlin s ever seen her look.

Sorry, Arthur, but their s an enquiry on the telephone that you really need to answer, she says. Sorry. Arthur pulls away from Merlin and strokes his chin, smiling slightly, before following Morgana through to the Searchroom.

Drinking to celebrate is completely out of the question. The very next day Merlin finds himself donning his best - and only - suit and, feeling very like Hugh Grant at the beginning of Four Weddings and a Funeral, rushing to the church to see Lance and Gwen get married. Arthur is Lance s Best Man, and he looks resplendent. Merlin can hardly keep his eyes off him, something that nobody misses.

Once the ceremony is over, everybody piles into cars and heads to the reception. Merlin has hardly had a chance to speak to the happy couple, and no chance at all to speak to Arthur, it s been so busy, but he happily gets a flute of champagne and sips at it, his eyes scanning the room. Gwen and Lance are dancing, eyes locked, each absorbed in the other as though there is no one else in the room. Morgana has consented to dance with Will, who is looking very pleased with himself. The very face he is looking for, however, is nowhere to be seen, and Merlin can t help but feel disappointed.

They look great, don t they? says a voice from behind him - speak of the devil - and Merlin jumps a mile.

Who? Will and Morgana? Great is not the adjective I would have picked, Merlin laughs, turning to face Arthur, whose eyes are sparkling with mirth.

I meant Gwen and Lance, but I can see what you mean, is the reply. Are you having fun?

Merlin nods and drains his glass of champagne. Arthur laughs.

Easy there, he says. Remember what happens when you get drunk.

I thought the point was you don t remember what happens when you get drunk, Merlin retorted.

Touch .

Are you having a good time? Merlin asks.

Yeah, Arthur says. Lance has been my best friend since forever. I m glad he s happy. It makes you think though, assess your own life.

Stop right there, Merlin says. Don t even go there, Arthur Pendragon. That s the cheesiest, most clich d line ever, especially for a wedding, and if you think

Arthur kisses him, proving a very effective way of shutting him up. Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur s shoulders, deepening the kiss, getting lost in the sensation of finally, finally, feeling Arthur s lips against his own. There are a few wolf-whistles, and somebody - probably Will, Merlin thinks - yells it s about bloody time . Merlin grins into Arthur s mouth, pulling away for air and leaning their foreheads together.

Stop stealing all the attention, it s my wedding, calls Lance, and Arthur sticks his finger up at him, pulling Merlin in for another kiss, and Merlin thinks sod the world , and kisses back as if it s the last thing he ll ever do.

Epilogue

I have something very exciting for you to do on your first day as Education Archivist, Arthur says, blissfully post-coital. Merlin snorts into his collarbone.

You think about work after sex? he asks, incredulous. I should be offended.

I ll show you offended, you cheeky bugger, Arthur grins, and rolls over.

The Next Day

Aerial photographs?

The shriek can be heard throughout the Record Office, making the staff wince and wonder at Merlin s ability to go that high.

Arthur, I am going to murder you! 


End file.
